


The Weight of Disappointment and Other Children’s Stories

by Million_Moments



Series: Harry verse [2]
Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Future Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-30
Updated: 2013-07-30
Packaged: 2017-12-21 20:38:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/904659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Million_Moments/pseuds/Million_Moments
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who would have though picture books could reveal so many cultural differences?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Weight of Disappointment and Other Children’s Stories

**Author's Note:**

> A sort of sequel for “Inherited Traits”, certainly set in the same “universe”, though you don’t have to read one to understand the other. Richard/Camille established relationship. Very, very much inspired by an article in The Guardian called “Terrifying French children's books - in pictures” by Jenny Colgan. Please google it, read it, and maybe also check out her blog.

“I’ve changed my mind,” Richard called over from the picture book section. “We are not getting him any French books.”

“I thought we had an agreement we’d raise him bilingual,” Camille told him sternly. “He already speaks French fine but we need to teach him to read and write as well.”

“Ok, I’ve no problem with that in general, but Camille, have you _seen_ these books?” He asked exasperated. “What is wrong with the French? Who would write and illustrate books like this for kids?” He waved a picture book whose title, as far as he could tell, translated as “The Weight of Disappointment.”

Before Harry was born, she probably would have said Richard would be the sort of person who might say that children need books that teach them about the real world. Of course back then she didn’t know what kind of Father he’d be, how he would do anything to prevent Harry pain.

“Well, disappointment is a normal emotion and part of growing up. It’s normal to try and teach children that. I hardly think you can dismiss all of them based on one book you think is a bit disturbing,” She tried to reason with him.

“Ok, fine, how about this one “The Curse of the Volcano”, we live on an island with a volcano, he’ll end up terrified. Then we have “The fears of David”, a book that very kindly provides reasons to be afraid of everyday objects such as forks and, and, fish! This one is about a lady who sucks children out of windows using her giant umbrella! Here we have a little boy who dies in the end…”

“Okay, okay!” She cut him off. “Now I come to think of it a lot of the books I read as a child were quite depressing. I mean The Little Prince starts with a plane crash and ends with the boy being attacked by a snake…”

“I’m not reading any books with _snakes_ ,” he told her emphatically.

“What I was _trying_ to say was that you know I read these books, had them read to me, and I’m not terrified of volcanoes or obsessed with death.”

“You investigate murders for a living!” He protested.

“So do you!” She shot back.

“Oh yeah,” he looked a little ashamed. “But still, I’d rather not risk anything.”

“Well okay there must be other books you do approve of,” She showed him the book she’d just found, “How about this one?”

“What on earth is ‘ _Les trois vaillants petits dechets’_ about?”

“Three pieces of rubbish thrown in a bin that become friends and fight crime,” she said, as if it was the most logical conclusion in the world.

“Well,” he began, clearly trying to resist the urge to respond sarcastically. “That is…disturbing. However it is far more appropriate this one about a girl putting her head in a plastic bag at least.”

“Oh just have another look through!”

He sighed, “I don’t know why the French can’t just have nice stories about pandas having picnics and rabbits building sandcastles!”

“Why on earth would rabbits want to build sandcastles?”

“Why on earth would a chicken be wearing fishnets?” He challenged, waving the offending illustration of a sexed-up chicken at her.

“Because she is a bit of a coquette?” Camille responded quickly, then burst into a fit of giggles at her own joke. Richard just stared at her disapprovingly. “It’s funny! You know, because the French for cockerel is coq and a flirt is a coquette and…she’s a chicken…in fishnets.” Ok, so obviously the disapproving look was not just because he didn’t get the joke.

“I’m genuinely concerned here,” he said, clearly upset with her not taking him seriously.

She sighed, “Come on, I don’t want to fall out over picture books. I mean I didn’t know there was such a, I don’t know, cultural difference between them.  How about you get final say on all books we buy him, I won’t read anything to him that you haven’t approved?”

He seemed willing to accept this amendment, and she was glad to avoid an argument about it. He went back to flicking through the bookshop’s offerings, but a few moments later she heard him swear really rather heatedly, which earned him many a look of disapproval from the other customers.

“Richard,” she hissed, rather upset herself.

“I’m sorry Camille, but this one is about a grim reaper who is upset that nobody is every happy to see him until one day he visits a little girl, who is actually happy to see him, and then he kills her,” He wasn’t bothering to keep the derision out of his tone. She was about to explain to him she thought it was a good idea children understand death from an early age, but he held up a hand to silence her. “That’s not the worse part, have you seen what it’s called?”

The title of the book did induce Camille’s second fit of giggles of that afternoon, “Le petite mort? Seriously?”

“My French might not be brilliant but even _I_ know that’s a pretty commonly used euphemism,” he told her sternly. She was laughing so hard now she had to wipe tears from her eyes, and when she looked back at him it appeared her amusement must be catching, as he was smiling at her.

“What is wrong with your people?” He asked her, grinning.

“Well apparently we are all macabre, sex-obsessed individuals with a desire to terrify our children,” she concluded once she had managed to stop laughing.

“Well the English are awkward, sexually repressed and over-protective. Hopefully our genes will balance him out into a well-rounded human being.” He tucked her hair behind her ears, and she knew they’d figure something out.

“I did actually find a French book with a character who is probably a bit more English,” she told him proudly. “ _And_ it has a rabbit who’s a detective.”

“Oh let me see,” he held out his hand and accepted the book, then shook his head in amusement. “Yeah, I’ll put ‘ _The Pretentious Melon_ ’ on the maybe pile.”


End file.
